


Of Men and Gods and a Face Full of Stars

by A_A_Inc



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, G.Wash, Gay, References to Depression, Sassy!martha, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-10-04
Packaged: 2018-08-11 18:56:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7903900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_A_Inc/pseuds/A_A_Inc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alexander just shrugged John’s question off. “I don’t try too hard to think about it. It’s like making people fall in love with me. I just act my usual, sleep deprived self, and they just faint all over me!” </p>
<p>He grinned roguishly and gave John an over exaggerated wink, and John could’ve sworn, if he hadn’t been so good at biology, that his heart stopped beating for a moment. “Although that could also be how horrifying my dark rings are,” Alex said pensively. </p>
<p>John opened his mouth to tell Alex that he had never seen someone look better with dark rings under their eyes, but it didn’t come out quite as sarcastic as he intended.</p>
<p>Shit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Unplanned Misfortunes

            Alexander blinked absently, lost in thought, and stared at the ceiling of the car. His caseworker, _Thayne Jasperson_ , his memory helpfully supplied, was blabbering on about something, possibly to do with politics? Alex wasn’t really sure. His thoughts were mostly consumed with worry about the family he would be staying with for an unknowable amount of time. He hoped that the Howes would be a good family to stay with, but he was sure he’d fuck it up somehow.

            Soon enough, they pulled into the driveway of a rather large house, that was quite unimpressive, despite its massive demeanor. His caseworker turned off the car and got out, going to the large, white front door. Alex waited a moment before he unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the car door, bracing himself for whatever was to come. He bent down to grab his backpack, closed the car door, and walked towards the door of the house. When it opened, Alex was greeted with the greasy smile of the man Hamilton assumed was Mr. Howe. He steeled his nerves and stepped over the threshold, and into the home of Mr. Howe’s family.

_Six Months Later_

            Alex blinked the pain induced sleep from his eyes, as he moved his arm to turn off his annoying alarm. When his arm didn’t touch his beeping alarm clock, Alex looked over in annoyance to find it, and was puzzled to find no bedside table, no barf-green walls, and no alarm clock. That’s when he realized he had several tubes in his arm. _When did those get there?_ As he continued to take in his current state and surroundings, he noticed three very odd things. Firstly, there was a T.V. on the wall opposite his bed. Secondly, there weren’t any walls on his left _or_ right, obnoxiously puke green or otherwise, and in their place hung heavy white curtains. Thirdly, he was is a papery hospital gown, not his clothing. A quick glance at the heart rate monitor that he had mistaken for an alarm clock was enough to make him sure. _Fuck,_ he thought eloquently.

            Alex had been in the hospital for a week and a half before Thayne Jasperson came to pick him up. The man, in his usual vociferous and articulate manner, had not spoken so much as a greeting to Alexander until half an hour into the awkwardly silent car ride. As usual, the dossier was sitting in the front seat of the car, waiting for Alex to read it. The dossier had gotten considerably thicker over the time he’d been in the American foster care system, and it was full of the half truths he had told the authorities. More than three-quarters of the dossier was full of stories of his foster families that ended with a hospital visit for him, and the others ended with different versions of the lie, “We are terribly sorry, Mr. Jasperson. We tried our best, but he just doesn’t fit well with our family lifestyle! He’s a troublesome child, you know.” And Alex supposed he was, in fact, a troublesome child. He talked too much, and he angered very quickly. Or he had when he had first entered the system. The fire and light and life had been crushed out of his eyes the way a dirt road is compacted into a good driving surface, through years of repetition of cars constantly driving over it, squishing it, pressing it and pressing it, grinding it together until there was nothing left in his being to ever suggest there had once been a flame like that.

            The last few pages in the dossier were, as always, about his new foster situation, even though he would be staying at an orphanage for a few days in between returning and leaving again. Today though, they were blank. He then flipped back to the end of the last section in the dossier, the one about the Howes. He read the whole section over and over again, his blood rushing through his body as he felt his heart thump in his chest. His vision began to cloud over, he was seeing red, his pulse thrumming as he read what they’d said about him. Words were swirling through the red, like scraps of newspaper over a fire. **(** ** _Violent._** **)** Somewhere in the background **(** ** _Insufferable._** **)** he knew that Jasperson was calling his name, **(** ** _Stupid._** **)** but it all blended in, becoming fuzzy and ignorable. Some partly-aware **(** ** _Loudmouthed._** **)** part of the back of his mind **(** ** _Bratty._** **)** recognized that the feeling in his thigh wasn’t **(** ** _Stuck up._** _Like I have anything to be stuck up about._ **)** _right or n o r m a l ,_ and that the dampness **(** ** _Narcissistic._** _He was, in fact, anything but narcissistic. He laughed darkly to himself about that one._ **)** in between the fingers on the H A N D not hold I N G the D O S S I E R **(** _you’re_ ** _pointless_** _, something whispered to him. Why are you still here?_ ** _)_** wasn’t sU P P osed to be wet, but it was W A R M and he didn’t really C A R E. He dimly saw a car d o o r O P E N and _why was the ground getting c l o s e r ?_ But he was distracted from the closeness of the grass by the appearance of a _very pretty color. What was_ ** _t h a t_** _blue? Oh and those are p r e t t y w h i t e_ ** _c l o u d s_**. A bird flew overhead and it suddenly S T O P ped moving and-- _no wait. It’s just moving s l o w l y . E v e r y t h i n g i s s l o w i n g d o w n . And then,_

_then  i t ‘ s  n o t_

**MOVING**

 

**_a t_ **

 

**_a_ **

**_l_ **

**_l_ **

**_._ **

 

* * *

 

            The springs dug into his back while the room around him came into focus, the all too familiar wallpaper and scratchy maroon couch cushions appearing piece by piece, the image of the orphanage rec room in the early morning, before anyone was awake. He absently wondered what he’d been writing, and leaned over the edge of the couch to grab the papers that must’ve fallen off his lap while he slept, as he rarely actually went to sleep, and rather every couple of nights collapsed onto a bed or couch to work and just passed out accidentally. He was then confused to find no papers on the ground, when it dawned on him that Mr. Jasperson must’ve placed him there because it was too late at night to go into the locked dormitory boy’s hall. He looked around for the clock, and spotted it's upside-down face, and smiled, remembering how it gotten that way. The smile faded and turned into a sad frown, thinking about the person who had helped him. She had been a year younger than him, and in the system since she was two. They had been nine and ten respectively when they had hit the clock off the wall and tried to hang it up with her standing on his shoulders. They had gotten it up, but it wouldn’t stay rightside up, and no matter what anyone did to fix it, it had, from then on, just flipped back over. He and Margarita (or Peggers, as he endearingly called her, but that’s a story for another day and a different failed ikea build) had been the best of friends,but not long after the clock incident, she was adopted.

            Exactly one year, three months, and seventeen days after he had arrived in America, he had been deemed “adjusted to America” and was sent to his first foster home, full of hope. He was sent to his second and third foster homes in the six month period following his return from the first, his fragile hope shattering and disintegrating and streaming from his young hands as if he was trying to hold water in them. His hopes turned to fears, the _what if_ this _will make them return me_ s became _what will it take for them to send me away_ s which eventually became _will this make them hit me_ s after a particularly bad foster home. He lived in fear, constantly planning for the day he turned sixteen, and could start to work to save up for college, even though he already did odd jobs for money, and for the day he turned eighteen, when he would be finally, be cursedly, blessedly _free_ of this place.

            He stood, hearing every vertebrae crack as he stretched, and grabbed his messenger bag and two, small hefty trash bags half-full of clothing, and headed off to put them in the room he would no doubt be barely occupying, and looking for breakfast and coffee. He found his room with no problems, and saw a boy of maybe five or six occupying the other bed. This was unsurprising to him, even though the orphanage rarely place younger children with the older ones, because they had very little space, and preferred not to move children around once they had settled into a room. It was alright with Hamilton, and he would take care of the boy a little, even, because the papers on the door said that little Ben was seven, and he knew what it was like to be a physically small boy around the bigger, older, tougher, and rougher kids.

            He walked through the frigid halls towards the dining area in the early morning light, the weak just risen sunlight giving the hallway a slightly rosey glow. He walked slowly contemplating the time that had elapsed since his arrival at the hospital. He was the most well rested he’d been probably in years, certainly in months, but he decided to get coffee anyway, because it was warm, and, as much as he loved the feeling of the cold air on his skin, he enjoyed not being cold.

            When he arrived in the dining hall, it was, unsurprisingly, empty. He grabbed the largest ceramic mug he could find in the orphanages mix matched set, and filled it with coffee. He began to drink the scalding liquid quickly and carelessly, not giving a damn about his too-hot tongue. He sat down at a table in the corner of the cafeteria space and sipped at his coffee, more slowly this time, and touched a spot on his collarbone where, concealed by his layers of clothing, there was a small tattoo of a tornado, surrounded by storm clouds, rain, and lightning, a remnant of the past life he tried so hard to leave behind or forget, and the name of his brother, and, ironically, the storm that had killed him. James. He sighed. It had appeared while he was in a storm shelter, days after the storm had dissipated, when he found out that his brother had not been found, but that his body had washed up on the shore, dead. It hadn’t been the first time he’d felt the white-hot pain of a fabled life story marker appearing on his skin, he had a small one, three pink star-like flowers and the name Rachel Faucette Buck, his mother, on the day of her funeral, and neither would it be the last, as the countdown on his left forearm indicated. He figured that, given that neither of the other events he had gotten a tattoo from had had a countdown, this one would be the day he met his soulmate.

  
            The tattoos always counted down in some measure relevant to the event, and Alexander’s was counting down the number of books he’s read. The number had been extremely high when it had first appeared, and his mother had worried it might be the countdown to his death, but when another countdown failed to appear, she figured that it was unlikely to have a death countdown and no soulmate countdown, and tried to stop worrying. As the number was now dwindling, getting smaller every day, and Alex figured that he would meet his soulmate soon.


	2. Hush Hush Homos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hercules Mulligan and Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette arrive at the thing she is proudest of, the orphanage.

            Lafayette smiled at Herc as he flopped onto Herc’s bed, and, by extension, landed on the stomach of the still-sleeping Hercules Mulligan. Or the recently-sleeping Hercules Mulligan. He certainly wasn’t sleeping anymore.

            The aforementioned sleeper groaned, the weight of his boyfriend an unwelcome (but not unpleasant) surprise first thing in the morning. Hercules never understood how Laf managed to be so energetic so early in the morning without a serious amount of coffee. Herc groaned again, and whined out a “Laf, why?”

            “Because,” said Lafayette, energetically, “It’s the weekend, Herc, and you said we were taking the train down to Florida, you know, to help your cousin.” Laf continued talking, but the tired Herc stopped listening, opting instead to observe his boyfriend. Lafayette was full of energy, animatedly talking about something. Herc thought it may have been their plans to help his cousin Cato out down at the orphanage with the really small kids, but he wasn’t sure, and Laf had slipped into French somewhere along the way, so Herc would never know. Either way, the longer his boyfriend sat on his lap, the less likely it was they would make it to the train station on time, especially if he kept blabbering on in French, and he had promised that he would help his cousin because they were really short staffed this week, what with people traveling and all. He reached up and carefully pulled Lafayette down towards him, crushing their lips together. “Shut up. You’re rambling again. In French.” He smiled and Lafayette laughed.

            Herc sat up and lifted Lafayette up, swinging his legs out of the bed. He stood up and placed Lafayette outside of his bedroom door. When Lafayette pouted at the action, Herc rolled his eyes exasperatedly. “We both know full well what will happen if I let you sit in here while I shower and change. Nuh-uh.” Lafayette assumed an innocent expression, and responded with “What would happen, Hercules? I don’t think I understand what you’re, how do you say, implying.” Herc pulled Lafayette in for a kiss, biting gently on Laf’s lip and putting his hands on Laf’s ass, massaging it gently until he moaned. “That. And then some. And being late isn’t an option. Cato would be disappointed.” Laf whined as Herc closed the door on his pleading eyes. “You can’t do that to me, Herc! Don’t leave me hanging!” Herc just laughed and turned the shower on, the sound of running water effectively drowning out Laf’s pleas.

* * *

 

            Herc slunk out of his room, his sweats hanging low on his hips, toweling off his hair. “Laf?” He wandered through his apartment, calling out occasionally for his boyfriend. He eventually wandered into the kitchen, where he found his favorite fighty Frenchman humming along to whatever music was playing in his headphones. Laf was being useful, for once, and making breakfast. Herc grabbed his boyfriend around the waist and kissed his cheek.

            “Morning, sweetheart,” Herc said, reaching around to grab a mug of coffee his lover had so thoughtfully prepared for him to apologize for his rude awakening and threatening to make them late.

            Lafayette smiled and turned off his music. “Mais mon cher! Tu as un coeur pur et beau.” Herc looked confused. “I’m not sure _what_ exactly you said in French, but given the loving and devotional tone I’m going to _assume_ it was about my ass.” Lafayette giggled and Herc nodded. “Yup. Definitely about my ass.” Lafayette doubled over laughing and ended up laying on the floor crying and gasping for breath. “I said-” _gasp_ “you have  a-” _wheezing laugh_ “ _pure and beautiful heart!_ ” Laf dissolved back into uncontrollable laughter while Herc took over flipping the pancakes, trying to hide a blush and waiting for him to be done laughing.

            Herc sighed. “Just get your French speaking ass off the ground and get out plates ‘n shit.” Laf complied, giggling occasionally and muttering to himself in French. They ate breakfast in relative peace and quiet, if by peace and quiet one means Laf repeatedly and not subtly at all trying to pour maple syrup into Herc’s coffee, and getting tons of shit for it. Eventually they got up and Herc threw on a shirt and a jacket, and they grabbed their stuff and left for the train station, the short walk pleasant in the mid-morning sun. Despite almost missing their train, Laf and Herc were able to laugh and relax in their seats, and the train ride was quite enjoyable. 

* * *

 

          Alex sighed as people began to trickle in for a late breakfast or early lunch. His sixth (or was it seventh?) cup of coffee had gone cold, and he mourned the fact that Peggers had convinced him that if you had more than two cups of caffeinated coffee in a row you would get heart palpitations and die (this is, in fact, not true. Alex had done the research, but it had become a force of habit to only have two, and he just couldn’t seem to break it). He was disappointed that his corner of the dining hall didn’t stay empty, peaceful, and quiet. He finished his coffee in one gulp and stood up. He returned the mug to the dirty dish collection, and wandered off to his dorm room to write.

* * *

 

            Herc and Laf put their stuff down in the hotel and smiled at each other. Walking out of the elevator, Herc remarked to Lafayette that they were actually running early, despite Laf’s best efforts to make them late at every step of the way. Laf scoffed, claiming he wasn’t really trying very hard, and that if he had been they wouldn’t have made it _here_ at all. He grinned deviously, and Herc rolled his eyes light heartedly as they walked down the street towards the orphanage, a branch of the Graham-Windham orphanage that had opened up down south. When they arrived, one of the volunteers greeted them cheerfully. “Good morning! Are you looking to foster, or to adopt? We have many children here who would _all_ be ecstatic to hear that they are getting two cool dads!” Herc and Laf looked at each other and burst out laughing. “Jane! I swear, if I get a complaint that you’re insulting parents again I’ll-” Cato broke off his statement as he walked into the room, immediately bursting into laughter. “I take that back,” he said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Jane, feel free to insult my _high school aged_ cousin and his boyfriend as much as you want. They’re here to volunteer for the week. God Herc, you’d make an _awful_ dad right now. Jesus.” Herc grinned and sprinted over to Cato, slamming into his cousin’s open arms and getting the biggest bear hug Laf had ever seen. He was shocked when Cato _picked Herc up_ because he knew that his boyfriend was _not_ a small or light person, but, seeing them side by side, he realized Cato was even taller, and at _least_ as muscular.

            Jane looked frightened, and Laf walked over to her and smiled at her brightly. “Don’t worry, mon amie. Cato doesn’t mean you any harm. He’s not mad at you at all.” She smiled nervously. “Is this your first job?” He asked her gently, curious. She nodded hesitantly. He smiled at her warmly and encouragingly. “You seem energetic. It’s a good trait to have in an orphanage.” Herc and Cato had been talking energetically, but Herc trailed off whatever he was saying in favor of staring at his boyfriend, admiring his kindness and outgoing personality. Cato was watching Hercules gaze love struck at Laf with obvious amusement dancing in his eyes and a definite spark of pride. Cato elbowed Herc gently between the ribs and wiggled his eyebrows at Herc, who playfully scowled in response.

            Cato clapped his hands together suddenly and loudly, startling everyone in the room out of the quiet moment of reverie they’d been having. “Okay, suckers. Time to work! You two rascals would do well to come with me and pay attention. Jane, keep doing what you’re doing! I’m liking the hard work!” Cato grabbed Herc and Laf by the heads gently and ruffled their hair, giving them playful noogies. They laughed.

            Cato gave them a brief tour of the orphanage, before instructing them to help Julie with the arts and crafts. When they arrived, they saw a volunteer who was simply swamped in children all between the ages of three and ten.

            Laf smiled and ran over to the finger-paint. Herc rolled his eyes, endeared by his boyfriend’s eagerness. He walked over to the volunteer. “Hi, I assume you’re Julie?” She nodded. “If you are looking to adopt, the bios are all at the front desk. We can bring any child in to see you once you’ve signed some papers but-” He cut her off laughing. “My boyfriend” he said gesturing towards the teenager who was energetically finger-painting with a young kid, “and I are volunteering here. I’m Hercules Mulligan, Cato’s cousin? He sent us over to help you with arts and crafts?” He said questioningly, as if unsure of his statement. Julie’s face broke out in a relieved grin. “Your boyfriend seems to be distracting them quite well. What’s his name?” Herc grinned, admiring Laf’s energetic conversation with the little kids. “Lafayette. He’s French. Moved to America a few years ago.”

            Hercules noticed a simple tattoo of a bird in flight behind Julie’s ear. He tapped the spot behind his ear. “Soulmate?” Julie grinned, nodding. “Jane. That one yours?” She gestured towards Lafayette. Herc nodded, rolling up his sleeve to reveal a French flag waving and a matching American flag waving below it. Lafayette’s elegant signature graced his arm next to the flagpole, parallel to his radius and ulna. “He’s got an embroidery needle and thread embroidering my signature on his ankle.” Seeing the confused look on her face, he added, “I’m a designer.”

            They devoted the rest of the day to the arts and crafts center, pausing only for a brief lunch break where they shoveled food into their faces as fast as they could so that they could go re-open the center as soon as possible.

            After an exhausting day, they closed the art center for good around 7:30, and headed for the dining hall. Herc and Laf collapsed at a table in the corner, not noticing it’s other occupant. “Long drive?” Alex asked, immediately regretting starting a conversation with them when they both jumped, not having seen him. Laf shook his head. “Working in the art center is hard work.” “Oh,” said Alex, “I wouldn’t know.” Laf squinted at him, trying to judge his age. He looked around the same age they were, but he couldn’t really tell. “What did Cato have you do as a, how you say, volunteer, then?” Alex grimaced and muttered something through his teeth. “What did you say?” Herc asked, leaning forward. Alex clenched his jaw. “I _said,_ I’m _not_ a _volunteer_.” Herc’s eyes widened a fraction, before he put on an easy smile. Lafayette, meanwhile opened his mouth in an ‘oh’ gesture, before saying something in rapid-fire French lowly. Herc guessed he was swearing, probably berating himself for making a mistake. Herc squeezed his hand knowingly.

            Hercules tried to alleviate some of the tension, introducing himself as “Hercules Mulligan, the patron saint of gay orphan immigrants, and potatoes, and a sewing _god, thank you very much,_ at your service.” Alex laughed a little. Laf frowned, mockingly. “ _Mon dieu_ , you outed me to a stranger! How could you! It’s not like all the adults here other than your cousin assumed we were _married_!” He laughed, then paused abruptly. He looked at Alex. “You do not mind our, how you say, homosexual tendencies?” Herc and Alex burst out laughing. Herc said “You mean our gay-as-fuck-ness?” at the same time Alex said something about kinship and queer orphan immigrants, but Laf couldn’t understand what he said in his rapid fire tongue from across the table over the loud sound of his dear soulmate, Hercules.

            Alex grinned. “You aren’t very hush-hush about your homo, are you.” Herc and Laf looked at him, confused. “You know, hush-hush homo? Closeted homosexual? Not out-and-proud gay?” He sighed dejectedly. “Nobody gets it. Maybe he was right… maybe it isn’t a good expression...” Laf’s eyes widened and he laughed. “Je suis désolé! J’ai mal compris toi! Je pensais que tu disais que nous avions besoin de cacher notre homosexualité!” Alex’s eyes widened. “Non, non, non! C’est parfait! Vous être parfait! Vous homosexualité est parfait! S’il vous plaît, ne cachez pas votre sexualité! Vous devriez jamais être honte de votre sexualité!”

            Lafayette gasped. “Tu parle François?” Alex winced, noticing his mistake. He hadn't meant to slip into French, or even to let on that he knew French, but he couldn't let Lafayette keep thinking that he was being homophobic. “Oui,” he said after a moment's thought. “Je parle couramment.”

            Alexander felt his hands shaking, and began to bounce his knee to compensate for the adrenaline. He _really_ didn’t need to spiral into a panic attack today. He really didn’t need it. He did his best to keep up with the conversation, picking up that Lafayette and Hercules were soulmates, and that Hercules was a designer, but he wasn’t able to pick up on much else. He didn’t even remember if he’d told them his _name_. “Oh, I’m Alexander Hamilton, by the way.” He said, beginning to feel his body shift into autopilot as he became entrenched in his thoughts. His personality slowly drained from the conversation as he pulled farther and farther back into himself.

            By the time Herc and Laf headed off to go back to their hotel and sleep, Alex had gone so far that he didn’t know where he was. He was stuck in the timeless, endless, featureless void of his mind, the textureless walls closing in on him just fast enough that he was beginning to suffocate long before he was getting crushed. He felt sick. Eventually, he thought around two in the morning, he snuck into his room, careful not to disturb the sleeping form on the other bed. He stared at the wall for several hours, or maybe only seconds, and fell asleep, and slept in a dark, dreamless, pit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FRENCH TRANSLATIONS FOR MY NON FRENCH SPEAKERS!
> 
> Je suis désolé! J’ai mal compris toi! Je pensais que tu disais que nous avions besoin de cacher notre homosexualité!: I'm sorry! I've misunderstood you! I thought that you were saying that we needed to hide our gayness! (... ok so technically it says homosexuality but ...)
> 
> Non, non, non! C’est parfait! Vous être parfait! Vous homosexualité est parfait! S’il vous plaît, ne cachez pas votre sexualité! Vous devriez jamais être honte de votre sexualité!: No, no, no! It's perfect! You're perfect! Your gayness is perfect! Please, never hide your sexuality! You should never feel ashamed of your sexuality! (Again, doesn't say gan=ynedd,
> 
> Tu parle Francais?: you speak french?
> 
> Oui, je parle couramment.: yes, i speak fluently.
> 
> Kudos to anyone who got my obscenely obscure reference in this chapter, and just in case you were wondering, Thayne Jasperson is the actor who plays Samuel Seaburry, so brownie points if you got that last time. Thank you to my wonderful inspiration and motivation, TulliisTrash (libroslunae) or ciceroniantrash on tumblr. Read A Million Things I haven't done by this awesome person. It's my lifeblood. I am my-brain-needs-a-spring-cleaning on tumblr come chill with me or yell at me for being a fuckwad. Either is fine.


	3. I Picked up a Pen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hammy is lonely, Laf and Herc are super gay, and Martha is amazing.

            It had been a whole week since the awkward dinner conversation with Lafayette and Hercules, and Alex was just starting to settle in to a routine with the ball of pure, imported, nice French energy that was Lafayette, and the teddy-bear like Hercules (who looked like he could bench press everything Alexander had ever owned and the boy himself with _one hand_ ). It was that morning at breakfast when he had discovered that, in point of fact, they wouldn’t be volunteering there much longer, and were going home later that night. The news, although expected, set him reeling. Even though he knew that he wouldn’t be able to keep them as friends ( _they weren’t his_ friends _anyway, who was he kidding, and why would anyone_ want _to be friends with_ him _?_ )

            He spent the rest of the day barely conscious of what was happening around him. He knew that he and Herc and Laf had at some point eaten lunch, but he didn’t know when, and he couldn’t have told you what anyone ate if it killed him. He was barely even there when Herc and Laf told him to “ _Go write in the rec room for a minute if you’re so worried about your science homework!_ ”, but he did realize that it meant that they didn’t want him around, and walked up the hall to the rec room in a fog, the usually beautiful hallway hidden behind the darkness in his eyes.

            Herc and Laf exchanged worried glances as the boy they’d befriended slouched away, lost in thought. Herc frowned. “I _really_ don’t think he’s okay, Laf.” Laf nodded, pensive. He looked at his phone as it buzzed, and his whole demeanor brightened up as he read the text he has just received. “ _Mon cher!_ The Washingtons and Thomas are here to fetch us!” He grinned at the thought of being reunited with his twin, even after such a short time. His grin faded a little when he realized that he would be leaving the clearly distraught Alex alone at the orphanage. Still, he eagerly grabbed Herc’s hand and practically dragged him to the front desk by sheer force of will. As soon as he saw the Washingtons, he dropped Herc’s hand.

            Lafayette grinned a grin that was so wide it nearly split his face in two as he ran over to his twin and embraced him. Soon he released Jefferson and moved on to- “Martha! George! Why didn’t you tell us last week you’d be coming out to get us?” Martha smiled sweetly at him, embracing him happily. “We wanted to surprise you, dear.” Laf soon released her too, and hugged George Washington, who put a kindly hand out to Hercules to wave hello. Herc smiled and waved back. Lafayette stepped back and away from his family, still grinning. Laf was talking at a breakneck pace. He had so many adventures to recount! He started to talk about Alex, about how cool he is, how smart and funny and kind. He frowned, and the sadness nearly killed Thomas. He hated seeing his twins so upset. Lafayette talked about how sad it was that Alex would never be adopted because nobody knew what to do with him. He just kept talking, not realizing he was speaking his worries about his friend’s mental state. He also didn’t see George and Martha exchange a meaning-heavy glance over his shoulder. They had, without Lafayette or Hercules’ knowledge, been approached by Cato on the very subject of Alexander Hamilton. Cato had begun the conversation when George and Martha had arrived, Thomas having disappeared to find coffee and the restroom immediately, and not necessarily in that order. He had looked to his friend and mentor, Martha, who had taken him under her wing and taught him how to help people, for advice. He knew that Alexander Hamilton wasn’t a bad kid, quite on the contrary, Alex was extraordinarily kind to kids struggling to get adjusted to the orphanage, especially the younger ones. Cato was primarily concerned by the kid’s lack of drive as of late. He hadn’t talked Cato’s ear off nearly enough times since he’d arrived, and Herc described him as quiet. Alexander Hamilton was anything but quiet.This was huge cause for concern. Martha, as woman of a great many talents, he was sure would be able to help him. He had asked for her advice, but the only advice she could give him only cemented his concerns and confirmed his fears. She had told him that Alex had been traumatized, based on his reactions, was probably depressed, and that he had been uprooted too often for him to trust his surroundings not to turn the world upside down on him again.

            Lafayette paused, finally having run out of words to say and things to tell. George smiled. “Maybe you could tell us all about it in more detail and a little slower on the way back, yeah?” Lafayette blushed, nodding.

            He ran off with Herc to grab their luggage. Although they looked, Alexander was nowhere to be found. They had to leave without saying goodbye. Laf walked out a little dejected, but soon perked up at the idea of telling His friends about all the people that he’d met, and writing letters to Alex (he had no cell phone, and said it was easier this way because he never checked his email), and forcing his friends to write letters to Alex (again, no email or texting), and smiled. He would reunite with his friend one day, and until then he would simply correspond with him.

            Alex hid in his bathroom, knowing that soon Hercules and Lafayette would be gone. Part of him wanted to stand up and run out there to spend as much time with them as possible, but he CoULd n  ‘ ttt mOve    . His world slowed down, and he fell asleep, leaning against the wall opposite the bathtub.

            By the time Alex woke up and could move, it was dark outside. He took a short walk around the building before heading to the dining hall. He grabbed an apple from the basket, and took a bite as he sat down, setting down the paper and pen in front of him. Then, in a clear, crisp, clean black ink that looked beautiful on the parchment-like paper, he penned in the words he knew he’d never send to the address that he had written on an envelope in the same flowing black ink, but printed. These words were in a flowing cursive, and seemed to appear from the tip of the pen as if they had always been there.

 

_Lafayette,_

            The letter began.

_I have had a most excellent time in your acquaintance, and this past week was certainly one of the best in my time in the foster care system, and it was nice to have a friend again, even for only a short while. Your parents seem like they love you so much, and I should be grateful, because many children in my situation never even hear real stories of homes that lovely, and so I am very grateful that you let me share that peace, even if it was neither real nor for a long time._

_I will miss your bright demeanor and playful attitude, and I miss your smile already. Smiles are few and far between in my life in the orphanage, and you and Hercules were able to keep me laughing almost the entire week._ _Since we parted my dear Marquis at the end of the day, I know that dinners will never be the same. I fear that your dear Hercules may one day burst with love for you. He is completely and entirely infatuated with you, as you are him. I will hopefully be as lucky as you are one day, and have my own dearest to love, but I am afeared that I am counting the seconds not ‘til that glorious moment, but ‘til my demise. Be my demise as it will be, at my hand or the hand of others, It will always be the victor who shall have says in what story gets told, despite the insistence with which you repeat the words of your father “You have no control who lives, who dies, who tells your story”._

_I find myself unable to simply do as you ask, and “wait for it”, it being the opportunity to visit you. Instead, I have taken it upon myself to write my own deliverance._

_I hope to find you in the best of health._

_My dearest regards,_

_Alexander Hamilton_

 

            He wrote a letter of a similar ilk to Hercules. When the scratching of pen on paper has ceased, and the ink had dried, he carefully took the letters, folded them, and placed them into their respective envelopes, going even so far as to place stamps on them, before going up the stairs to the room he was staying in. One quick glance around the room told him that the boy was sleeping, so he was sure to be very quiet as he pulled out the old cigar box from his bag. He had picked it up at a yard sale for a dollar, and he gently opened it, placing the two letters in the box, which was full of other letters. These letters were all addressed simply _Pegs_ without so much as a zip code. They all had stamps, and were all marked with the date in the corner. He had never sent a letter in his life, even though Pegs had promised to write him swiftly after being fostered. She never had. It was okay, he was sure she had just been busy. He knew that she had probably forgotten about him by then, but he still wrote to her occasionally, whenever something happened. He took out another envelope and addressed it, same as all the others, Just the name Pegs written on the front. He wrote and wrote and wrote, told her everything, just as he had when he could talk to her in person. He wrote about the Howes, writing down everything, forgetting the risks of writing down the true story, and it felt good. He didn’t realize he was crying until he looked up at the clock, signing his signature. It was around five-thirty. He looked at the paper, frowning over the tears, before picking up the thick swathe of paper, folding them carefully, placing them inside the envelope, and sealing it.

            Lafayette and Hercules listened as George and Martha talked to each other quietly. They weren’t exactly listening, per say, as they were mostly asleep, but they let the calming waves of sound float over them, letting the calming sensation of safety roll over them like fog settling in over the hills. Lafayette, sitting curled up in Herc’s lap, fell asleep first. Then Hercules, with his head against the window, and finally Thomas, who put his head on his sleeping twin gently, as to not wake him up. He pulled his headphones out and put his book down, the steady rocking of the train setting him at ease.

            George spoke softly to Martha. “I’ve been thinking about what Cato said.” He paused, unsure of what to say next. Martha saved him the trouble. “So you’ve come around to my side, right?” He nodded, slightly hesitantly. “I think that the kid deserves a shot, of course, but do you really think we’re the best parents for the job?” She scoffed. “If we _don’t_ do it, then _who will?_ ”

            After that evening, Cato received an email from a .gov email address. Cato, never having needed to communicate with George directly over email (he had only ever emailed Martha), he hadn’t remembered his employment status. Because, if George and Martha were, in fact, planning on bringing another child into their household, especially one as old as Alex was, the child would have to be tested by the security, he had gotten an email from the security personnel who worked for George, detailing the procedure. Cato emailed Martha and asked if the threatening email from security meant they would be taking Alex, and quickly got a concerned reply. Martha informed him that if he thought the testing would be too much, they could try to find a way around it, but that, as Democratic Leader in the House of Representatives, his security team could be difficult at times.  
            Cato assured her that it was fine, and that he had just been surprised. The testing was quickly and painlessly completed, and, of course, Alex was not suspicious in the least. That took some heat off of Cato’s back, but until the paperwork went through, he wouldn’t be sure if George and Martha were taking Alex. For the time being, he kept the possibility secret from Alex. Then, one day, a nondescript letter arrived in the mail, addressed to Cato, and it contained the paperwork and response from the Washington family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to ciceroniantrash on tumblr for being the grammar nerd they are when I freaked out over something a couple of days ago! You should read their great fic, A Million Things I Haven't Done right here on AO3! Come cry with me on tumblr my-brain-needs-a-spring-cleaning. I literally live and write on comments, caffeine, and cheep food, so please tell me the good and bad you see here. I really want this to be the best it can be, so please tell me what you think!  
> E-OUT!


	4. Window Seats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hammy arrives in NYC, finally meets Jefferson and Martha and George.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so so so so so sorry this took forever to get up! The french translations are at the end. Enjoy!

            The man, in his usual boisterous and communicative manner, had not spoken so much as a gruff hello to Alexander until half an hour into the intensely silent car ride. Alexander blinked absently, lost in thought, and stared at the ceiling of the car. Thayne Jasperson was blabbering on about his own family’s personal politics, but Alex wasn’t really paying attention. His thoughts were mostly consumed with worry about the family he would be staying with for an unknowable amount of time. As per usual, the dossier was sitting in the front seat of the car, waiting for Alex to read it. The dossier had gotten considerably thicker over the time he’d been in the American foster care system, and it was full of the partial lies he had told Thayne Jasperson and Cato, unable to say the truth, even just to them, and they had been so kind to him. Most of the dossier was full of stories of his foster families that ended with a hospital visit for him, and the others ended with different versions of the lie, “We are incredibly apologetic, Mr. Jasperson. We tried our best, but he just doesn’t cohere well to our family’s ideals! He’s a difficult child, you know.” And Alex had accepted that he was, in fact, a troublesome, difficult, annoying, irritating, exasperating, maddening, infuriating, irksome, pesky, vexing, bothersome, nettlesome, tiresome, worrisome, disturbing, upsetting, niggling, nagging child. He knew he talked too much, and was very abrasive, causing pain in every life he touched, like an acid or a base. The system had taught him that that was all there was to being a bad foster child. You hurt someone once, and that’s it for you. You make a mistake, and your life is worse than done for. The fire and light and life had been crushed out of his mind the way a candle is smothered into smoke, through one simple moment at the whim of someone who was bigger, better, faster, stronger, smarter, and better looking, until there was nothing left in his being to ever suggest there had once been a roaring bonfire of spirit and fight like that.

            The last few pages in the dossier were, as always, about his new foster situation, even though he had been staying at an orphanage for a time, months, it seemed, but now he was being shipped out again. He was ready to start the dance anew, arriving and leaving again, weaving in and out of lives. They were a man and a woman, and two adopted children. The kids had been adopted when their parents died, it seemed, and were children of family friends. Twins, too. The family, the Washingtons, were well off. The older man was a politician, and his wife a lawyer. The twins were his age, and in the picture at the top of the section in the dossier they looked close, and happy. They would hopefully be amicable enough towards him.

            The summer months at the orphanage hadn’t been very kind Alexander, and it had all but pushed the memories of his brief friendship with Lafayette away entirely. He shelved the memories, choosing not to think about them until it made sense to. The rolling hills out the window were beautiful, and the rolling wheels of the car underneath him were soothing, and he could almost feel himself drifting off. He was distracted from his sleep by the appearance of a very pretty color. The leaves on the trees were just beginning to turn, and appeared as if to be on fire against the beautiful blue sky and white puffy clouds. A bird circled overhead, and he noted that it looked like a falcon, but he didn’t get very far on that train of thought before dozing off.

            He looked outside the window to see darkness. They had left the orphanage around five pm, and had had an early dinner beforehand. There was a cup of coffee next to the driver’s seat, and a bottle of water in the door next to him. He glanced at the time. He didn’t realize how long he’d been asleep. The clock read four-thirty, and he’d fallen asleep around two, or so he thought. (He’d actually fallen asleep around three, but he didn’t know that.) “When are we getting there?” He asked through a yawn. There was a moment of silence before he got a response. “Around one pm, maybe two. I’ve stopped for coffee and gas already, and we’ll have to stop again soon.” Alex nodded.

            He dozed off again between seven and eleven, deciding that it was better to not consider the possibilities of what was to come, and to waste time sleeping. The five and a half hours of sleep he’d gotten was the most uninterrupted sleep he’d had since his first time in a hospital on the mainland of the Americas. Often he was too busy to sleep more than two or three hours, or had too many nightmares, full of water and screams and crying and wind, or nightmares full of large hands on the collar of his shirt, on his arms, on the back of his neck, and other places, or nightmares full of the smell of vomit and blood and the chills racking his body, and the still, cold body beside him, holding him.

            After several hours of staring out the window silently, two coffee stops, and a gas stops, they arrived in New York City. From there it took them another hour and a half to navigate through the city traffic at noontime to get to their destination, which turned out to be a very nice, very large, very clean-cut house on the outskirts of the city that never sleeps.

            The house was intimidating to say the least. It had it’s own driveway, a small affair, but still impressive near New York City. The house was beautiful. It’s grassy lawn was small and lush, and there was a beautiful garden around the side and slightly visible in the back. There was a gravel path through the garden, made of that nice, fancy, white gravel that stinks of wealth. The red brick of the driveway lead up to a large, stately, white house, with beautiful corinthian columns supporting an overhang. The inside of the house was sure to match, Alex thought, concerned at the prospect of annoying a wealthy (and probably powerful and influential) family.

            Alex placed his hand on the door handle, and tried to open the door. It was locked. _Click._ He unlocked the door with his other hand. He pulled on the handle, and stopped before it caught and opened the door. He let the handle snap back without releasing it. _Click_ . He did it again and again, finding himself unable and unwilling to just _open the freaking door already, God, what a loser he must be, unable to open a door by himself._ **_Pop_ ** _-click._ The door popped open and the handle snapped back into place, this time without his fingers. He forced one leg out of the car, lifting it up over the edge of the doorframe, placing it down on the bricks, then the other, mechanically. _Lift, over, down._ He placed his hands on the edge of the seat. He sighed, pushing himself up, up, up, over the edge of the car, and onto his feet. He stretched, his back cracking, his shoulders popping, his muscles, confined for almost twenty hours, stretching, expanding, relaxing. He bent over and grabbed his messenger bag from below his seat, mechanically and stiffly walking around to the trunk, popping it open, and grabbing his two half-empty trash bags of clothes and other unnecessaries. He walked to the door and to Jasperson unsteadily, like a baby animal, unsure on its brand-new legs and feet.

            Even the door to the house was impressive. It had a large, brass, lionshead knocker in the center, and a doorbell off to the side, the metal plate behind it ornate, just like the rest of the house. Jasperson used the knocker as if he’d been to houses nicer, and went every day. Alex shifted nervously.

            The door creaked on its hinges. _Why would the door creak? If they were rich enough to live in a house like this, couldn’t they just buy some hinge oil or something?_ He wondered. Creaky doors make running harder, not to mention that he had nowhere to run to, not now that he was nineteen hours away from the city streets he knew. He was effectively as far from the orphanage as if he was in another country.

            The woman who had opened the door held herself straight with a pride and power that gave her a formidable demeanor, despite her lack of height. She smiled when she saw them. Her smile was bright and welcoming, and seemed real. Alex doubted it was. _Who would be_ glad _to see a poor orphan boy on their doorstep?_ “Mr. Jasperson? Would you like to come in?” She leaned back behind the door and yelled. “George! George get up! They’re here! It’s not those bloody reporters again, come here this instant!” They heard a rush set of footsteps and a deep baritone voice. “Yes dear! I’m coming, dear!” The door opened wider, revealing a tall man. He had deep coffee colored skin and understanding eyes. “Please, do come in. Martha and I can have tea ready for you in just a moment, or coffee if you’d prefer.” Thayne shook his head, and glanced at his watch. “I’d best be going. I need to get back to Florida, and I have several things to do while I’m in the big city. I promised I’d help out a friend of mine while I’m up north. I’ll take my leave and let you get little Alex settled in.” Alex bristled at the nickname. “Alex, you know the drill. Be good, all that stuff.” With a curt nod to Alexander and a brief goodbye to Martha and the man, whose name he was struggling to recall, he left. That was it. Alex was stuck here for the duration of his stay, one way or another. He looked at them nervously. The man extended his hand. “My name is George Washington. It’s nice to meet you, son. I assume you’ve met my wife, Martha?” He gestured to the woman next to him. Alex nodded, then swallowed to clear his throat. “Nice to meet you, sir.” Washington chuckled. “Please. I’m ‘sir’ or ‘Mr. Washington, sir’ at work all day. George is fine.” Alex nodded. Mr. Washington- _George_ , Alex corrected himself, seemed to notice the bags he was carrying. “Please, come in. I’ll show you up to your room so you can put your stuff down and get settled in.” Alex nodded, swallowing dryly. He never ‘settled in’ until he after a week. It had been advice from an older kid, who had warned him that settling in too quickly often ended up in important stuff getting lost, prized possessions getting left behind, and misery in packing up quickly when he had to leave without warning. No, it was better only to unpack what he needed immediately, and to unpack the rest as need occurred.

            “Jefferson!” Martha yelled, startling Alex, and by the looks of it George, too. A boy of around Alex’s age came bounding down the stairs. He had a large mass of fluffy hair, hanging free, loose, and wild around his face. His face looked like Laf’s, Alex realized with a sharp pang of sadness. “Yes Martha?” He said brightly. “Oh! You must be Alexander! Here, let me take those upstairs for you. You must be exhausted!” The boy, Jefferson, reached for his trash bags. Alex recoiled instinctively, flinching. He winced internally for his strong reaction. The boy was probably trying to act nice for his parents, and would probably just beat him up later, a typical golden child. The boy blanche and withdrew his hand. _Way to go, Alex. You’ve made him hate you._ The boy deflated a little, and said a little less energetically, “Come on. Your room is this way.” Jefferson sagged in defeat bit by bit as George and Martha left their sight and they continued up the stairs and into a hallway.

            The boy turned. “You aren’t scared of me, are you?” He bit his lip nervously. Alex was shocked. He had been expecting a snarky comment or a sneer, anything mean and malicious, not for the boy to be upset or concerned. It took Alex by surprise.  “Wha- I- Scared?” he managed, sputtering. He tried again. “I didn’t mean to reject your offer to help, I just…” He paused, searching for words that wouldn’t give too much away. He certainly didn’t want him to know he had thought the boy might steal or destroy what little stuff he had, or beat him up. He gesticulated helplessly. “Wasn’t expecting it.” he finished lamely. The boy nodded, and seemed to perk up a little bit. What Alex didn’t know was that the boy had picked up on something Alex didn’t want anybody to figure out, ever. The boy extended his hand slowly. “I’m Thomas Jefferson. I’ve been living with George and Martha since they took me and Gibby in when we were little. Can I please help you carry your stuff? I promise I’ll be careful and I won’t look through it or anything.” Alex nodded slowly. His brain was working at a million miles an hour as Thomas reached for his bags, one in each hand, in slow motion. Alex still flinched when he felt Thomas’s hands touch his. _Thomas must be smart to have figured out what was going on so quickly._ He thought back to his answer. He hadn’t given anything away, so why was Thomas treating him like he was a spooked animal? It seemed as if Thomas had picked up on his anxiety immediately, and Alex wondered if he truly looked that panicked. Thomas held both his bags in one hand and gestured with the other, looking like he wanted to sling it across Alex’s shoulder but was refraining. He lead Alex silently through the hall to a large room, and gently placed his bags down against the wall. The room was light blue and white, with a couple of built in bookshelves, a dresser, a large bay window with a bench and some navy pillows for sitting and reading on, and a large bed. Not a mattress on the ground, not a pad on the floor, but a real bed. A queen-sized bed. Alex gawked. “Whose bed is this?” Thomas laughed. “I had the same reaction coming from my other foster home. It’s yours- everything in here is.” Alex balked, shaking his head. “I don't believe it… The state can’t be paying them _that_ much just to get rid of me,” He worried his lip with his teeth, trying to take in the sheer size of the room.

            Thomas frowned, and gently put his hand on Alex’s shoulder, despite his obvious flinch. “Alex, you know that George and Martha don’t care about money, right? They are rich enough that it just doesn’t matter to them. They care about you, you know. They’re just kind like that.” Alex nodded, even though he couldn’t wrap his head around the idea of not caring about money. He had always lived in poverty, or stayed with families where there just wasn’t enough money to spare. Thomas took his hand off his shoulder. “I’ll let you get settled then. I guess Martha or Gibby- he’s at school right now, I’m home sick- or George or I will come get you for dinner if you’re not downstairs by then.” Alex nodded again, trying to keep the flow of words from spilling out of his mouth. He didn’t want to say too much and ruin everything again.

            By the time Thomas came back up for him, he had done all the unpacking he was going to do for the next couple days, and was sitting and reading a book on the window seat, trying to contain his anxiety. Thomas knocked on his doorframe, and Alex jumped, his heart jumping into his mouth, his anxiety skyrocketing, setting him on the edge of a panic attack. The number of pages on his arm had diminished to only a few thousand, while the number of books was only three. “Dinner,” Thomas said lightly. Alex nodded, placing his bookmark in his book and standing up, pausing only to place the book on top of his messenger bag. As they walked down the hall towards the staircase, Thomas started talking to him. “Gibby’s home from school. Luckily Martha is letting me go back to school on Monday, as it’ll be your first day. She wants us to take care of you. She worries, you know. She loves everyone.” Alex nodded. They walked down the staircase, approaching the murmur of voices. Martha and George were talking to somebody with a thick French accent. The voice sounded achingly familiar. When they rounded the corner into the dining room from the bottom of the staircase, Alex gasped. “ _Laf?_ ” The boy looked over. It was, indeed, Lafayette. “ _Alexandre! Mon petit lion! Je ne suis pas fait de savoir que tu fait nous rejoins!_ ” Alex grinned. “ _Et je ne sais pas que tu habite ici, dans ça splendeur!_ ” Thomas laughed, gesturing towards Alex. “ _Il parle français? C’est parfait!_ ” They all laughed, while George and Martha watched in confusion. Finally, George interrupted their french  conversation. “Sorry boys. I’m going to have to outlaw french during dinner. They all smiled slightly, and dinner passed uneventfully from there on, despite Alex’s earlier fears.

            By the time Alex went upstairs towards sleep with the twins, because it turned out that even though Thomas had stayed in America over summers all his life, hence the accentless English, Lafayette and Thomas were identical twins. Alex smiled, happy that they were happy, and ducked into his bedroom, closing the door and sighing. So far, it didn’t seem so bad, but he didn’t want to judge so quickly. He paced the room for at least three hours, before finally resigning himself to his bed, where he sat for another few hours, before giving in to sleep, already stressing about his first day of school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FRENCH:  
> Alexandre! Mon petit lion! Je ne suis pas fait de savoir que tu fait nous rejoins!  
> Alexander! My little lion! I didn't know you were joining us!
> 
> Et je ne sais pas que tu habite ici, dans ça splendeur!  
> And I didn't know you lived here, in this splendor!
> 
> Il parle français? C’est parfait!  
> He speaks french? It's perfect!
> 
> So sorry this took so long. I had super writers block and zero time and then I accidentally wrote something else... Whoops! This chapter is an entire 1k longer than usual. I haven't proofread it so if you saw any errors, please tell me! Comments are my lifeblood! Find me on tumblr if you want to yell at me for updating late at my-brain-needs-a-spring-cleaning. luv y'all! -E


	5. A Number of Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I just want to tell you that my actual summary for this on my master document/plan thing is: Ch5: SHOPPING WITH LAFFY TAFFY AND MAMMA!!!MARTHA AND TJEFF!
> 
> So that's what happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahahahaha I'm the lamest person and I need to update regularly but for some reason this chapter was really hard to write. Sorry guys. It's 3k just for you? ALL TRANSLATIONS AT THE END!

             He was asleep. Honest to god sleeping. Lafayette giggled. Alex was adorable sleeping. He was curled up on the floor huddled in a blanket. There were notebooks and journals spread around him. He must’ve been working on something when he fell asleep. Laf leaned away from the doorframe and whisper-yelled down the hall to his twin. “Tommy! Tommy!” Thomas walked down the hall towards him, clearly still tired. “Yes Gibby?” he said patiently. “Look! _Il est_ _si_ _petit_ _quand il dort! C’est mignon!_ ” Thomas laughed quietly, and nodded. Alex was pretty adorable all curled up under the blanket. Laf smiled wickedly. Thomas watched curiously as Laf crept over to the sleeping boy. Once he was standing over Alex, Laf flopped down on top of his unceremoniously. Thomas wasn’t sure if Alex had flinched or if it was just a reaction to the sudden weight, but the small boy was quite suddenly very awake. Alex had let out a little scream of surprise when Laf landed on him, and had immediately put his arms in front of his face in a protective gesture. Thomas frowned. In a moment, Alex relaxed and moved his hands away from his face, groaning. “Why me… Nobody deserves to be woken up like this… Please spare me…” Lafayette laughed. “Coffee.” Alex perked up and pushed Lafayette off of him so he could jump to his feet. “Coffee? Where?” Thomas frowned. “He lied to you. There’s no coffee in this house right now. We’ll have to stop by a cafe if we want some. Or, more accurately, you will. I’m going back to sleep.” Thomas yawned and walked back to his room. Alex pouted at him. "Why did you do that to me? I thought we were friends!” Laf laughed. “ _Mais mon petit lion!_ We must shop!”

             A few minutes and several promises of coffee later, Lafayette had coaxed the boy into getting dressed. Alex grumbled about everything from the hour to Lafayette’s quite neon ensemble, a neon yellow tank that showed off, quite proudly, a French/American flag on his shoulder, and ghastly neon blue and pink cropped jeans and sandals, showing off an embroidery needle on his ankle. Lafayette just laughed off Alex’s complaints that he was hurting his eyes, and told him that he hated this look too, but he wore it so he could send selfies to Herc and frustrate him. Apparently, they’d met at a high fashion themed decades future and past halloween party, and their first exchange went something like this. “Hey man, this is a costume, right? You don’t actually like those pants, right?” Herc had been panicked. Laf had decided to have a little fun with him. “ _Mais non! J’aime ce pantalon!_ ” Herc had freaked out. They had paused on the stairs for Laf to explain exactly how much he hated the pants, and when Martha found them, they were on the ground in stitches, snapchatting Herc. She looked at them and smiled, glad that they were getting along. She coughed, drawing their attention. “You two go sit downstairs, OK? I’ll be right back and we can leave.” They nodded, returning to their previous conversation, and continuing down the stairs.

             When Martha returned, she returned dragging a very disgruntled Thomas behind her. “Come on kids. We’re going shopping.” They all exchanged glances. Thomas looked at Laf and Alex tiredly, begging them to leave him behind. Laf looked at Alex and Thomas like a kid on Christmas, thrilled at the idea of shopping with Martha. Alex looked at Thomas and Laf with barely concealed panic. Shopping was not his idea of fun. He already owned everything he needed. _What if this was their way of trying to lull him into a false sense of security?_ He blinked violently. _Un. Deux. Trois. Quatre. Cinq. Six. Sept. Huit. Nuef. Dix._ He let out the breath he’d been holding. He’d make it through this, just like he’d made it through everything else. He would write his way out. Write away the pain. His hands itched for a pen, but he couldn’t get to one. He did what he could. He counted. _Ichi. Ni. San. Yon. Go. Roku. Nana. Hatchi. Kyu. Jyu._ He exhaled. He hadn’t realized they were in the car. Inhale. _Uno. Dos. Tres. Quatro. Cinco. Seis. Siete. Ocho. Nueve. Diez._ Exhale. Lafayette was looking at him worriedly. “ _Mon petit lion?_ ” Alex blanched. He was quite suddenly very aware of the worried faces of Lafayette, Jefferson, and Martha all hovering nearby. He blinked. “A-are we there yet?” His voice was raspy. _What?_ Lafayette looked terrified. “You passed out, Alex. You were breathing a lot and then- _mon dieu_ \- you stopped breathing!” Alex winced. This certainly wasn’t the first time he’d accidentally passed out trying to calm down from a panic attack. “I’m ok.” He stood up, trying to prove his point. Martha sucked in a breath through her teeth nervously as he stood a little unsteadily. He tried to smile, but it probably looked more like a grimace. He started walking. Laf walked beside him with a bright smile, but it was clearly forced. He hooked his arm through Alex’s elbow. “We have shopping to do!” Alex groaned playfully. “Don’t remind me.”

             Laf dragged him into a clothing store, one that looked more expensive than any of the other foster houses he had stayed in. Alex dug his heels in. “Laf, isn’t there anywhere else we could go? Somewhere less, I don’t know…” He shrugged, trailing off and gesturing around vaguely, hoping that the unspoken _expensive_ would be understood. Laf studied him while he hopelessly gestured around and nodded gravely. “If this shop is not your, how you say, style, we can go find another store, but there are a couple things that I see in here that would be excellent on you.” Alexander’s shoulder’s slumped. “Okay. If you really want to.” He decided he would just humour Laf and try stuff on without buying anything.

             Martha and Thomas found them in the store as Laf collected clothing and Alex trailed behind like a lost puppy, all wide eyes and bewildered expressions. Martha laughed. “Gilbert, honey, why don’t we let Alex try some of those on now, and go back to searching later, okay?” Lafayette nodded vigorously, and dragged Alex, huge armfuls of clothes and all, to the dressing rooms, leaving Martha and Thomas behind in the metaphorical dust to shop. He helped Alex put all the stuff down, and sat down on the bench in the surprisingly large stall. Alex just stood there hesitantly. “Well? Aren’t you going to try stuff on?” Alex just stared at him, blushing a little. Lafayette looked back at him quizzically, before it clicked. “Oh! _Je suis desole. Je ne pensais pas que tu désire la vie privée_ !” He paused, thinking, then began speaking more demurely, and maybe a little sadly. “ _C’est bon. Je vais laisser seul maintenant toi_ .” Alex panicked. He really hadn’t meant to hurt Lafayette! He searched for words to stop Lafayette’s slow movements towards the door and couldn’t find any. So he did the first thing he could think of, and quickly took off his shirt. Lafayette, having started opening the door quickly closed it. “ _Mon ami! Si tu est inconfortable, je peux partir, c’est pas une problème_ .” Alex shook his head quickly. “ I- _je viens de ne t’attendais pas a rester, c’est tout_ .” He coughed. “You can stay. I mean- if you want to. I guess you might want to see what you picked out?” Alex started rambling. Lafayette shushed him. “Go. Model for me, _dah_ -ling.” They burst out laughing at his over dramatic pronunciation of the word darling. Lafayette sat back down, and Alex turned around to pick out something to try on, and Lafayette studied his physique. Alex was short, there was no denying it, but he was small, too, almost to the point of looking a little too skinny, but he was slightly toned, and his skin had a warm glow of health to it, despite the dark circles under his eyes. He wasn’t hard to look at, the Frenchman decided, and he was totally John’s type. He would have to introduce them at lunch when Alex got to go to school on Monday.

             Alex turned around in a loose white tank. It was almost see through, and the tattoos on his shoulder and collarbone were fully visible. He rubbed his collarbone nervously. “It’s not really my style, sorry…” he trailed off nervously. Lafayette was staring. Alex fidgeted. “You did not tell me you had met your soulmate already. Why are you not with them?” He took a step forward. “James? Or,” he paused, reading the signature on his shoulder. “Rachel? Or both, I guess, if you are polyamorous.” Alex shook his head and lifted up his forearm for Lafayette to look at. “Haven’t met them yet.” He didn’t meet Lafayette’s questioning gaze. Instead, he sighed and continued. “My mom,” he said, pointing to the three small pink star-shaped flowers on his shoulder. “And my brother,” he said, pointing to the hurricane on his left collarbone. He scoffed. “My brother, lucky him, gets to share a name with the thing that killed him.” He shrugged. “Anyway, I don’t want people asking questions, so maybe we could keep it to long sleeved items or tee shirts and jackets?” Laf looked horrified. “But _mon ami!_ They are beautiful!” and they were. They were works of art, intricate and vibrant, just like Alex himself. Alex shrugged. “Not really a fan. Bad memories.” Laf nodded. “Maybe we could buy **_une_** _chemise avec manches courtes_?” Alex looked at Lafayette’s pleading expression, and his hopeful eyes. Alex’s shoulders sagged in defeat. “Fine. One shirt. One.”

             For a time, the dressing room was just a whirl of Alex trying on shirts and jackets galore and Lafayette helping him choose the best ones. Lafayette handed him one shirt after another after another and the pile of items that passed their scrutiny was getting worrisomely tall. _They weren’t going to actually buy all that, were they?_ But then Lafayette handed him a pair of pants and all the worries about cost flew from his mind. He couldn’t try on those pants. Not in front of Lafayette. Nope. “Lafayette, I have jeans.” He raised an eyebrow. “You have like two pairs of jeans and both have holes in them and are at least two sizes too big.” Alex made an indignant and undignified squawk. “I have four pairs of jeans thank you! And they are perfectly comfortable!” “Alex, they have giant holes!” “They do not!” Lafayette threw his hands up. “Why are you being so difficult! Just try on the pants!” Alex exploded. “I don’t need new pants! Strop trying to waste money on me!” Lafayette paused, surprised at the boy’s outburst. “Is that really what you think this is? A waste of money?” Alex started to nod hesitantly, before he stopped himself and sighed. “Fine. I’ll try them on. Just-” his voice broke a little. “-just leave me alone, will you?” Lafayette looked at him scrutinizingly. He filed the details away for later, Alex’s broken expression, his worries about something about changing in front of him, his evident lack of self worth, all of it. They would talk later, he decided. Lafayette nodded and left the changing room.

             Alex dropped the pants, leaning his forehead against the wall, his hands above his head, and exhaled softly. “God damnit. Alex, you idiot. You shouldn’t have been so rude. He’s going to hate you now. I guess it’s better than the alternative pity and disgust, but you could have done that better. Where are all your fancy words now, dumbass?” He sighed, and bent down to pick up the pants.

             Laf sat down on a bench opposite Alex’s dressing room. Leaning his head back against the wall with a quiet _thump_ he sighed. _Est-ce que Alex pense vraiment qu'il est pas la peine? Comment peut-il penser qu’il n’est pas le peine? Ce n’est pas comme George et Martha ne peut pas se le permettre._ He pulled out his phone to mindlessly pass the time.

             He looked in the mirror. The pants _were_ pretty comfortable, and Lafayette had been right, better fitting pants were nice, but they were far too expensive. Compared to his usual ‘15 dollars is too expensive for two pairs of pants’ policy, spending 50 dollars on a single pair of pants was _absurd_. Even if the pants looked good on him. Even if they were, by far, the best pair of pants he’d ever worn in his life. They were ludicrously comfortable. No pair of pants had the right to be that comfy.

             He peeked out the door. Laf was doing something on his phone. _He’s too busy right now. I can’t interrupt him. He’ll just hate me more._ He began to close the door again, and that was the moment Alex began to curse squeaky doors. Every time he _needed_ to not be noticed closing a door, it squeaked. Lafayette looked up, and his face brightened. “Are you wearing them? Can I see how they fit? Hercules will _kill_ me if I let you buy a pair of jeans that doesn’t fit, you know.” Alex nodded a little and let the door swing open to show the Frenchman, who gasped promptly. Alex looked down, panicking. _Had he let some of the scars show?_ But quickly relaxed realizing that he was actually wearing pants, not shorts. Then he promptly freaked out again. _Do they really look that bad? Do I just have bad taste? What if-_ “ _Mon ami_ that looks fabulous! We have to get them! Did you finish trying everything on? Good. Put your ridiculous pants back on and we’ll go check out, okay?” Lafayette pushed him all the way into the dressing room and pulled the door shut. Alex locked it and did as he asked. When he opened the door again Laf pounced right away and gathered up all the things they had approved, and, checking the size of the pants Alex had tried on, all of the pants in that size and immediately dragged him to check out where evidently Martha was waiting for them. She smiled at them as they approached. “Is that really all you need Alex? You can’t have nearly enough winter clothing in there to last you through the winter, and I don’t see a single coat!” And when Alex started nodding, she added on to her statement. “And you need formal wear, goodness me! How could I forget? Gilbert, we need to take him to that lovely shop sometime soon. And we need to get him a winter coat today. Plus we need to get him the other essential school supplies and such. We might just end up having pizza for dinner, because we certainly won’t be home in time for me to cook dinner, and if we let George try to cook there won’t be a home to go back to! I’ll tell him to pick up something.”

             They checked out at the register, and Alex began to feel lightheaded when he saw the cost. It was a lot. Too much. More than he was worth, to say the least. And they wanted to buy him _more_ stuff? But neither Martha nor Laf blinked an eye at it, and the only person who seemed at all surprised seemed to be Alex. Not even the _cashier_ seemed to be surprised at someone spending that much money. Martha and the cashier seemed to know each other, and talked a little while they were checking out. As they were leaving, the cashier waved at Martha. “Bye Martha! Will I be seeing you next week for coffee?” Martha nodded at them, smiling brightly. “Of course, Jordan!” and they headed out, and found Thomas sitting on a bench outside.

             The next few stores they visited went a bit like the first, with a little less drama, and smaller amounts of clothes. Then Martha decided that they had enough clothes for the day, and that it was time for school shopping. They arrived in a stationary store, and Alex immediately decided that he’d died and gone to heaven because it was the best thing he’d ever seen.They had entire _rows_ full of journals. He practically ran over to them. He eventually found his was over to a section of beautiful leather bound journals in all different colors and sizes, and he had barely picked one out when Lafayette found him. “ _There_ you are! I’ve never seen someone so excited by _stationary!_ Ooh, what’s that one?” He took the book from Alex and inspected it. “It’s a nice notebook. You have good taste,” he said, grabbing another and handing them both to Hamilton. He smiled both fondly and sadly. “My mother.” Laf nodded thoughtfully. “Come on. You still have to get _school_ stuff. I assume those are for personal use?” Alex nodded. “I thought the other was for you?” Laf shook his head. “Nah. Adrienne sends me enough notebooks with the French flag to last anyone a -how you say- lifetime- and a very long one at that.” Alex just nodded and clutched the notebooks to his chest. The leather was soft beneath his fingers, and the notebook had two belt-buckle like fastenings on it holding it closed. The rest of the stationary didn’t take too long, but Alex spent the longest time in the pen section, testing different types of pens until he found one to his satisfaction, while Thomas watched on amused. They checked out, and Alex smiled a little at the thought of being able to write in his journal as soon as they got back.  
             Alex was lost in thought, simply following Martha back to the car, when she paused to have them put the bags in the trunk. “One more shop, then we’re done, okay?” Alex frowned, confused. _Where else do we need to go? We’ve done clothes of all sorts and school supplies, what else?_ He continued to think and follow silently until they arrived outside- “The Apple store?” _Nuh-uh. This is ridiculous. Too much money. No._ “I don’t need anything here, why are we stopping?” Martha looked at him. “Of course you need things from here, dear. If you don’t have a phone, how would we contact each other if you got lost or needed help?” “Payphones have always worked in a pinch. I could just find my way back if I had to. Walking isn’t so bad, and I’m pretty good with directions.” Martha just shook her head and walked in. Alex felt his pulse start rushing and his hands start shaking as soon as he walked into the store. _Inhale. Yksi. Kaksi. Kolme. Neljä. Viisi. Kuusi. Seitsemän. Kahdeksan. Yhdeksän. Kymmenen. Exhale._ He saw himself standing next to Martha, and heard her choosing a laptop for him as if from a great distance. _Inhale. Üks. Kaks. Kolm. Neli. Viis. Kuus. Seitse. Kaheksa. Üheksa. Kümme. Exhale._ Martha was paying for the laptop and phone and a few other things Lafayette and Thomas had deemed necessary. The price made his heart rate skyrocket. _Inhale. Eins. Zwei. Drei. Vier. Fünf. Sechs. Sieben. Acht. Neun. Zehn. Exhale._ They were back in the car, Alex holding his notebook and new electronics to his chest tightly. He continued counting, careful to not pass out. He still felt dizzy when they arrived, but he walked up to his room, placed his stuff down, and promptly began writing, and he felt a little better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So all the random words in other languages is just counting from one to ten in different languages. Google translate yo so if I fucked it up, please tell, I will correct. In order, the languages I used were: French, Japanese, Spanish, Finnish, Estonian, and finally German.
> 
> French Translations (in order of appearance):  
> Il est si petit quand il dort! C’est mignon!- He is so small when he sleeps! It's cute!  
> Mais mon petit lion!- But my little lion!  
> Mais non! J’aime ce pantalon!- But no! I love these pants!  
> Mon petit lion?- My little lion?  
> mon dieu- my god (in this case, like the english exclamation of 'Jesus Christ' rather than saying my god)  
> Je suis desole. Je ne pensais pas que tu désire la vie privée!- I'm sorry. I didn't realize you wanted privacy!  
> C’est bon. Je vais laisser seul maintenant toi.- It's good. I'll leave you alone now.  
> Mon ami! Si tu est inconfortable, je peux partir, c’est pas une problème.- My friend! If you are uncomfortable, I can leave, it's not a problem.  
> je viens de ne t’attendais pas a rester, c’est tout.-I just didn't expect you to stay, is all.  
> mon ami- my friend  
> une chemise avec manches courtes- a shirt with short sleeves  
> Est-ce que Alex pense vraiment qu'il est pas la peine? Comment peut-il penser qu’il n’est pas le peine? Ce n’est pas comme George et Martha ne peut pas se le permettre.-Does Alex really think he's not worth it? How can he think that he's not worth it? It's not like George and Martha can't afford it.
> 
> I totally love all of you who take the time to read my shitty writing, and I cannot stress enough how much getting the emails saying that someone left me kudos or a comment mean to me. I totally get that I'm a lamo, and I will try to update again tonight, but no promises. Also: Should Chapter seven be monday at school or an epic take down of Seabury? Vote now in the comments.
> 
> -E


	6. Bloody Knuckles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angsty a little bit maybe. Alex and John meet. Thomas threatens bloody murder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was gonna have one more chapter of not angst, but HAHAHA NOPE! I hope you enjoyed the calm before the storm!

             John walked into the kitchen yawning, his wet hair still dripping on the back of his shirt from his shower, but stopped short when he saw someone sitting at the counter, reading a newspaper. “D-Dad?” Senator Henry Laurens looked up from his paper. “What is it?” He said the question in a bored, flat monotone way, as if it were a statement. “N-nothing father. I w-was just wondering why you hadn’t left for work yet, it’s pr-pretty late.” Henry Laurens took a sip of his coffee. “Stop stuttering. It’s not good for you to be weak all the time. Do you need a therapist for that too?” John looked down at his feet. “No sir.” He shuffled over to get a mug for his coffee. “Good. I haven’t left for work yet because today is a special occasion.” John looked up, startled. _Had he remembered that it was Mary Eleanor's birthday? It would mean so much to her, just knowing that he remembered he, remembered that-_ “I have a press conference today. I’m announcing my race for re-election. John looked back down at his drink. “Oh. Well, congratulations sir,” he glanced longingly at the cabinet where the hot chocolate was. “I hope the conference goes well, sir.” On any other day, he’d be making some for himself and Mary Eleanor and Martha and Junior, but his father wouldn’t let him drink it, claiming it was girly and childish. Jemmy had been the odd one out, drinking tea before he- no. John wouldn’t let himself think about that. Not on Mary’s birthday. Instead he poured himself a cup of coffee, and let the bitterness sink unwelcome into his tongue. He hated black coffee. But anything else would make his father even more disappointed in him. Thankfully, he soon folded the newspaper and stood up, leaving his coffee mug on the counter. “I’m off then. See that they all get to school.” John nodded, waiting until he heard the front door slam. He sighed in relief, put his coffee down quickly, and started heating up milk for hot coco.

             By the time Martha was downstairs wrapped up in her robe, hair dripping from her shower, John was flipping Mary’s breakfast of choice, chocolate chip pancakes. She had requested them when he had tucked her into bed the night before, and he couldn’t say no to her doe eyes. Henry must be taking a plane down to South Carolina for the week if he were running for re-election. His father’s choice to move the Laurens family to New York city had always confused John. He could’ve moved them to DC, kept his commute short, and they stayed in South Carolina over longer breaks, but the only excuse Henry would ever give was that his mother wanted to live there. He grabbed the tongs and pulled the last few pieces of bacon out of the other pan, placing them on a plate covered in paper towels. He flipped a couple of the pancakes, and poured a mug of cocoa for Martha, placing it in front of the tired girl. He took a sip of his own drink, the coffee much improved with the additions of sugar, milk, and cocoa, making it a mocha. She took a sip of her drink, before sighing, spotting the already large pile of pancakes. “I guess I better go wake them all up.” He nodded, watching her as she grabbed a pancake off the stack with her bare hands, eating it as she walked back up the stairs.

             John sighed to himself, flipping the pancakes onto the stack. It was just so fucked up that he and Martha were more like parents to Junior and Mary Eleanor than their actual father was.

             They rushed through breakfast, got ready, and John dropped everyone off at school before he pulled into the parking lot outside of his school. He sighed, resting his forehead on the steering wheel and groaning. He had checked his ankle in the morning, looking at the number of fist fights he was going to have before meeting his soulmate, and groaned. For the fourth day in a row, all it said was one half, and when the _fuck_ was he going to have half a fight? He was not happy, to say the least. Then he got a phone call from his father. The phone call reminded him that he had therapy later that day, and if that wasn’t torture, he didn’t know what was. When he mentioned that it was Mary’s birthday, Henry offhandedly told him to get her something trivial she wanted, nothing too expensive, and to say it was from him, and reminded John to spend his own savings on any dinner items outside the budget per night, and on gifts for Mary. Suffice to say that by the time John got out of his car he was in a bad mood. So when some random kid bumped into him and didn’t apologize fast enough? He was more than ready to take a swing.

             Alex had stayed up pacing and reading and writing. He had managed to get to a really good point in his book, but he couldn’t sit still for just one more minute. He had paced for at least two more hours, before finally going to sleep.

             When Lafayette woke him up in the morning, Alex had expected to be given fifteen minutes and maybe a piece of toast if he was lucky, and told to head out and find his way to school. Lafayette was really quite eager to introduce him to all his friends at lunch, claiming that he would love each and every one of them like a cheeseburger. Alex was a little bit more than worried that Lafayette’s friends wouldn’t approve of a stranger in their midst. He had thrown on the first set of clothing his hand had touched, and was immediately ushered back into his room by Lafayette, saying, “Non non Non! Tu ne pouvais pas possiblement porter ça!” Basically he had forced Alex to change several times until he found the perfect outfit. They had walked down the stairs to join Thomas and Martha, who were making breakfast together. A large mug of coffee, a plate of pancakes, and a couple of slices of bacon were set down in front of him and he was thoroughly enjoying all of it. Soon enough, it was time to leave for school.

             Lafayette drove them all to school, and gave Alex directions to the office because he couldn’t find any parking. Alex pulled out his book, Lafayette had said that because of the surprisingly expansive grounds of the school it was actually a fifteen minute walk from there to the office, despite the beautiful park like grounds.

             He was halfway through page 278 when he bumped into a person, hard, slightly tearing the page he was preparing to turn to. He looked up to apologize, but anxiety closed his throat, and he was caught by surprise by the man’s attractiveness. He couldn’t say anything. The man, clearly pissed, asked him ‘ _what?_ ’, before proceeding to haul back in preparation to take a swing, and that’s really all he was sure of, because then he was tightly curled up into a ball on the ground, panicking, and he may have been crying, he wasn’t quite sure. All he really knew was that everything _hurt,_ and that something touched his shoulder and it burned, and he was burning, and he knew that he deserved it, deserved the pain, but he couldn’t figure out _why_ . _What did I do this time?_ He tried to choke out an apology, tried to say “ _Sir, how do you want me? How do you want me to fix this?_ ” But what could **he** possibly do that was worse than this? Then he heard his name, as if from a great distance, but who did he have who could have been calling him? He had no one. He was alone, and it was quiet, and it was dark, so he let himself fall.

             For John’s part, he had been read to punch someone since he’d come down the stairs and seen his father. So when some (decidedly cute) kid comes barreling into him at a breakneck pace, it doesn’t do much to stop his aggression. “What?” his voice was harsh. When the kid didn’t answer, he prepares quickly to do the one thing he could’ve done. But by the time his fist is sailing through the air, the kid in on the floor, curled up in the fetal position. To his credit, it doesn’t take him very long to realize he’s made a mistake, and he quickly kneels down by the kid, not sure what to do. _What do you say to help a kid you just tried to fight?_ The thought gave him pause. _It wasn’t really a fight. Only one person (me) had thrown a punch, and nobody got hit. It was really only half a fight._ The second the thought crossed his mind, a searing pain flashed into existence on his right ankle. He almost screamed. It was intense. He pulled up his jeans to see what had been a “½” replaced by a beautiful roaring lion. There was a smudge of ink underneath the lion, and John cursed. He’d been hoping to learn some information about his soulmate from the tattoo, but the smudge of ink was unreadable. _That must be where his name will go._ He let his pant leg re-cover the lion, remembering that his immediate problem was the health of the boy in front of him. He reached out, and placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder, shaking him. The boy reacted like a scared animal, retreating further into himself and making a pathetic little whining noise, so upset and scared that it practically broke, no, _did_ break John’s heart to hear him in such distress. He gently put his hand on the kid’s back. “Hey, kid? You okay?” He paused, waiting. _Nothing._ He rubbed small circles on the kid’s back. “You’re kinda scaring me, man. Can you give me a sign?” He waited. _Nothing._ John saw a figure walking towards them. _Thomas._ He stood up, trying to catch his attention. “Jefferson! Jefferson! Over here!” The boy started walking over, and yelled back a reply. “Did you beat someone up without me? It’s not like you to wait by someone’s side. What did they do-” He stopped short as his eyes properly took in the person lying at John’s feet. He sprinted towards them, stopping a foot or two away. “ _What did you do to him. John, I swear to god, if you’ve hurt him you will not survive this god damn it.”_ Thomas practically growled at him. John took a step back, scared. “Wha-what do you mean? I didn’t-” He cut himself off. He _had_ hurt the boy. He didn’t know _what_ he did, but the boy wasn’t okay. “Wh-who i-is he?” Thomas ignored him, kneeling down by the boy’s side. “Hamilton? Hamilton? Alex? Alexander?” He sounded frantic. “Are you in there?” _Alexander Hamilton. That was the boy’s name._ It had taken a moment for John’s muddled mind to piece the name together. The white hot pain that had become just a dull throbbing ache began to burn again. Thomas looked up at him, murderous. “John, you mother fucker. You had better get out of here if you know what’s good for you.” John turned and fled, the tears in his eyes from a combination of pain from his ankle and terror. He was so, so confused. “ _What have I done?_ ”

             Thomas looked around, searching for Alex. Gil couldn’t find parking, and had sent him to make sure that Alex had made it to the office. Soon he spotted John Laurens, southern belle and resident shrimp of their group (he wasn’t sure how Alex measured up quite yet) standing up. “Jefferson! Jefferson! Over here!” Thomas smiled a little. While John was small, he wasn’t quite so small as to be invisible from eye level. There was someone at his feet, probably someone who had been saying homophobic stuff at the wrong place, in the wrong time, near John Laurens. He changed directions, walking towards the shrimp. “Did you beat someone up without me? It’s not like you to wait by someone’s side. What did they do-” the words “to deserve it” died on his tongue, as all moisture left his mouth. _That’s Alex._ He realized, in slow motion, that he had stopped walking. _No no no no no no._ He ran, but everything was happening in slow motion. He couldn’t get over there fast enough. He stopped right in front of them. “ _What did you do to him. John, I swear to god, if you’ve hurt him you will not survive this god damn it._ ” Thomas was panicking. He was scared and furious and he _couldn’t_ let anything happen to Alex, who was so fragile. John stumbled back away from Thomas’s rage.  “Wha-what do you mean? I didn’t-” Thomas looked down at Alex in concern. John may have said something, but the words didn’t register with him, only the quiet buzz of words being spoken. He knelt down by his side. “Hamilton? Hamilton? Alex? Alexander?” He sounded frantic, even to his own words. “Are you in there?” He choked back a sob at Alex’s pathetic state. Getting no response, Thomas knew he had to get John out of there before Alex woke up and got even more freaked out. He glared at the shrimp. “John, you mother fucker. You had better get out of here if you know what’s good for you.” John fled like a bat out of hell. Thomas took a deep breath  to steady himself, and pulled out his phone. _Pause_ . “Hey Gibby?” Thomas sounded on the brink of tears. This was too much for him. “I know- I know that parking is difficult, but I need you to get down here right now.” _Pause._ He looked around. “Um, I’m about one hundred meters from the office.” He sniffled, looking down. “Why?” He took a shaky breath, before continuing almost in a whisper. “It’s Alex. He’s not okay.” He nodded, then hung up the phone. He sat down next to the boy on the ground. “Oh, John.” He whispered, gazing at Alex. “ _What have you done?_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theres no french in this one (other than laf telling alex he can't wear that, but context), so no worries there. Please come find me on tumblr, you can send me writing prompts and given the fact that I literally never have anything better to do they will mose likely get written. my-brain-needs-a-spring-cleaning WOOT WOOT
> 
> -E
> 
> P.S.  
> Y'all need to comment more because I have no idea what you think and how much of an awful job i'm doing so if you don't mind clueing me in, that would be nice.  
> -E


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